


Rumour Has It

by sherwoodfox



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Greedling - Freeform, Other, Sibling Incest, Some Mature Language, Xing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 16:00:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18854341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherwoodfox/pseuds/sherwoodfox
Summary: There has never been a time in history where leaders were not gossiped about by their subjects, the peasantry and aristocracy alike- but Xing’s young new Emperor provides much more fuel for rumour than most.





	Rumour Has It

_You mustn’t upset the new Emperor._

_The new Emperor has power._

_Don’t you know?_

These were the whispers that had consumed the country of Xing. They were spoken across market stalls, between cooling sheets, slipping from the mouths of the nation’s richest and poorest, from gold tea rooms to dirty smoke houses. They were wild things, like racing cats, like smoke that bloomed upwards from a flame- uncontrollable, and not always clinging strictly to the source.

_The Emperor is immortal._

_He’s possessed by a demon._

_He keeps a green dragon for a pet._

...which was not to say that those whispers were wrong.

_He drinks a thousand bottles of fine wine a day._

_He can transform into a midnight turtle._

_He speaks with the voices of hundreds of the dead._

Just maybe, at times, a little exaggerated.

How well these whispers took root in the mind of the listener, of course, depended. There were rice farmers who were terrified of the new Emperor, in a good-natured kind of way, for they believed everything (even the stories they themselves made up) and had little else to tell each other during long work days under a burning sun. Monks instead said nothing of it, but looked through their ancient scripts for precursors anyway, trying to see clearly, pretending that their emotions- which they lived to tranquilize- did not rear in their chests when the whispers slipped into their ears. Rural bureaucrats and wealthy merchants scoffed to themselves over sweet smokes, laughing to each other over how it couldn’t be real, and looked nervously around in case some malignant spirit- that they did not believe in- was listening.

Only those who worked in the palace knew which of the whispers were true. That was where the fire was lit, lit in plain sight for all to see, and from there the smoke blew.

And of course, they were not supposed to speak of it- the powerful advisors had decided as much, because to speak of it was to speak of impossibilities and contradictions and unanswered things that disturbed the mind. And besides, aristocrats only ever gossiped among themselves. But such things always had ways of getting out- the illiterate cleaning staff, for example, said things to their sisters in the fish markets, and the cooks that prepared the royal dishes joked nervously with friends in bars, and from these things and others like them the country got its unofficial news.

The Emperor was surely immortal. In a demonstration, he had ordered one of his guards to stab him through the chest with a spear- the head had plunged into his heart and out again, but it had left no hole. Or maybe it had broken off on impact- not everyone had seen exactly. And afterwards, the Emperor had rewarded the obedient guard with a beautiful concubine- or maybe he had had the man killed. No, most were sure about the concubine. After all, some knew the man who had done it, and he was still well.

(Strangely- and this was a side thought, for those speakers in a lighter mood, not inclined to shock and horror- it was said that the Emperor never used his concubines. There were hundreds on reserve, of course, as was natural, he was dutied with the impregnation of every one- but on report, he never touched them. Perhaps this was because he was immortal. There would be no need for successors, if he was immortal. But immortal or not he was a man, wasn’t he?)

And maybe yes, the Emperor was possessed by a demon. Apparently his eyes changed colour, and at times he spoke with an accent that was surely a dialect of Hell, so thick and slurred were his words. At these times he drank, and held wild parties, covered himself from head to toe in jewels- still never gathering close any of the beautiful women at his disposal- and said things no Emperor would ever say. Dirty things. No one dared repeat them. And how was it so? The young Emperor had gone off across the desert into the West, and there maybe he had found the secret to immortality, and there he had been taken by the demon. Or maybe those two events were one in the same- maybe some kind of deal had been made. And apart from the parties and the drinking and the jewels, who knew what other devilish things happened, behind closed doors?

(There actually wasn’t much beyond this, but barely anyone knew that, and those that did wouldn’t talk.)

And the hundreds of bottles of wine were an exaggeration. No one, not even the new Emperor- or his company- could drink that much.

And the thousands of voices, that was sensational, but up close and personal those that heard him knew it wasn’t true- the young Emperor only spoke in two, and one may have been the devil.

And turtles had strong shells, but not as strong as that, whatever it was when the Emperor used strange magic to make his body invincible, and darker than the darkest pigment of ink. It was difficult to describe, that. And few people had seen it, anyway. Maybe he could turn himself into a turtle, why not? Who could really say otherwise?

…

And then there was the _dragon._

This was one of the most doubted rumours, and the one containing the most wonder, too. For no one had seen a dragon in the royal palace- no massive serpents of the sky, with silken manes and glimmering scales and pearls brighter than the moon tucked under their chins had appeared there. So it couldn’t be true. 

But the dragons of folklore changed shape at times, did they not? There were stories of such marvellous creatures assuming human form, out of want or need, to get their duties done. And why could such a human form not be a youth with beautiful white skin and long green hair, with amethysts for eyes and sharp teeth, like a mongoose?

Was that really what the dragon looked like? Maybe.

And was it a man or a woman? No one quite knew.

And wasn’t there something eerie about it, something off? Yes, it cast shadows that stretched out far behind its figure, and the floor shook beneath its feet when it walked, and hidden in its chest it had a red pearl of wisdom that, when exposed, dyed the very air the colour of blood.

Or maybe that thing was a construct from Western alkahestry- a Philosopher’s Stone.

What’s the difference? Nothing, really.

And where did he find it? That, no one knew.

And how did he tame it? That, _most_ didn’t know.

It was only those closest to the Emperor that had some inkling of an answer, his personal staff and his advisors, and they had some answers to other questions, too. They saw the dragon every day, they heard its bitter, aching voice. It spoke as harshly as the devil did. They saw how the Emperor (and whatever else he kept inside) kissed it, and ran fingers through its hair, and rushed to appease it when it was upset. They saw how it wandered the rich halls of the palace like a lost child when it was alone. They heard carrying peals of high pitched laughter, a sound that made everyone in earshot pause and shiver. They saw the Emperor shower the creature with outrageous gifts, saw how it would destroy those gifts as though to spite him, and how that made the Emperor wild with lust.

It looked a little like some kind of courtship, though maybe a mad one.

(And many thought this, though no one would say it, because to say something like that would be an insult and no one wanted to insult the new Emperor, but maybe _that_ was why the concubines were left unused, the younger ones returned to their families, the older ones set up with new marriages. The Emperor was in love. Young men often only wanted one special person when their heart was snared.)

And did the dragon have a name? Yes, the Emperor called it something, a strange pet name. It was apparently based on some old Western expression, about green being the colour of envy- and the dragon had green scales or green hair, or maybe both, and it was so beautiful and so powerful that all wished to be like it, or to possess it as the Emperor did. The name meant something like that. 

(Really, most who saw it did not really want its attention- it seemed a little too wild, a little too frightening to manage single handedly. It surely was a real dragon, after all. Yes, it was good that someone as powerful as the Emperor was keeping it in check!)

The advisors got to see the dragon almost too often. The huge chamber where discussion between the Emperor and his court- kept in perfect shape, with red silk walls and carpets, tall pillars to support the massive roof shining with spiraling decals of pure polished gold- was put to use often. About the rounded wooden table- made of a wood that shone a deep red, and decorated with more gold- the advisors sat with their pens and their bowls of ink and their documents, each eager to speak what they could, hungry for the Emperor’s seal. He, the royal he, sat in the golden throne at the head of the table, where the wood parted so all of him could be seen, raised above the rest. There was a scribe nearby to record any declaration he felt he should make, so he needn’t lift a single ringed finger from where he sat, wearing decorative clothing of the highest make and material, his hair tied up and interwoven with precious metal, his dark eyes as bright as jewels themselves. The dragon sat curled on a cushion at his feet- or maybe that was just where it was supposed to sit, since mostly it sat on his lap instead, or stalked between the sitting advisors, making the air around them colder where it walked. It looked feral, wearing nothing but short and close-fitting dresses, not even footwear, never tying back its hair or painting its face. At times it would laugh to itself, which always came off as a little frightening, and it would whisper things into the Emperor’s ear that no one else could hear, and likely- disturbingly- affected his decision making.

No one dared, of course, suggest the dragon be banned from the courtroom. They had already pushed the Emperor enough about it, insisting that the high-ranking alkahists be allowed to examine the thing. Some were regretting that now- when the Emperor had returned, he had brought with him nothing more than a little worm, hadn’t he? And even when it had been restored, it had been clear to all that this was no mythical beast, but simply a contsuct of foreign science. Something to be studied, not to be concerned with. But as the months went on those memories became less and less certain, wavering, what had they really seen? Why were so few useful conclusions being drawn by the scientists? Maybe they had been wrong…

So no, no one dared say anything about the dragon, not anymore. It was becoming much more difficult to sway the young Emperor and his demon soul-companion. They would much rather live through the discomfort of having it peer over their shoulder while they read their proposals, giggling or whispering softly to itself, than confront anyone about it.

These finer details- like how the Emperor seemed to encourage mischief in the green dragon with his eyes, how it had a smell rather like wet stone, how obscenely the Emperor let it sit on his lap during court readings, nuzzling up under his chin- rarely made it past the palace doors. They were far too sensitive. The country had to make up its own goings-on about the Emperor and his dragon, which they certainly did.

_He rides it to the moon and back at night to fetch pearls made of starlight._

_It’s clever like a fox, and steals people’s faces to play tricks on them._

_At dusk it becomes a woman of unparalleled beauty, and he reads it love poems._

And so on. Not all of these, of course, were so far off base.

There was one time that a merchant from the distant north of Xing was summoned to the palace, to bring with him the wares of his people- practical crafts, beautifully carved arrows that would always shoot straight and heavy blankets that told stories in their weaving. And a few other things too- fermented mare’s milk, which had apparently been a specific request of the Emperor himself. 

The merchant had never been to the capital before, and was awed (surely he was, said the ones who told the story, because the poor wanderers of the north had nothing so spectacular as that) and nervous, for he too had heard the rumours about the new Emperor, and he wanted to impress.

The main greeting hall in the palace, everyone knew, was long and very tall, the walls painted with beautiful murals that had lasted centuries and would last centuries more, the pillars carved with the spiraling figures of dragons with open mouths. 

(But this new Emperor did not need _carvings_ of dragons, did he?)

The Emperor sat on another tremendous throne, one so large and wide he could have almost lain in it, and the merchant in his old furs that he had tried hard to wash, with his sons carrying a rough-hewn wooden casket of his wares, was humbled. 

And the Emperor, who had bright black eyes, was kind to him- he told a story of being once a traveler too, a traveler with nothing but the blood in his veins and the clothes on his back to call his own. He said he too had once been alone in a place where no one was like him, where no one would have cared if he were to die, where he was meaningless- and still he had been saved by the kindness of strangers. As such, the Emperor said, he would always seek to return that gift to others.

And the strange person lying across the steps that led up to the throne, the one wearing absolutely nothing to cover their legs and nothing to tie back their hair, said something incomprehensible like _‘You must mean that tiny idiot with the golden eyes. That was before you two met.’_

But of course it was. The merchant had only met the Emperor that day.

But the Emperor still agreed, and he laughed a little, too.

The merchant emptied his casket that day. The Emperor had an appetite for expense, that was what many said, in jest. There were make-work projects in the capital, to expand the palace, create galleries to house and display the many eclectic possessions the Emperor had gathered to himself. This was where the arrows and the blankets and the woven bridles for aiming a horse’s head would likely go. But the mare’s milk would be drunk.

It was here that the tale of the merchant became more strange- it was here that his sons would tell him to stop jesting when he told it, stop getting his head wrapped up in wonders.

For the Emperor had the drink split, offering a glass to the merchant (which was accepted), a glass to the scribe in silk robes (which was accepted), and a glass to the careless-looking youth spawned over the steps (which was refused).

_‘I’m not touching that shit. Seriously.’_

There was no way anyone in the Emperor’s court would speak like that. And to refuse him- was that not dangerous? Was he not a descendant of Heaven? But the Emperor only laughed.

And how he laughed, this time, was different.

And the merchant could have sworn, though this was impossible, that his eyes had changed colour- they were purple now, had they not been black before?

Some that heard this (in a tavern, where the merchant ate after the ordeal) shook their heads, and some that heard it latched on like leeches- _‘yes,’_ they said, _‘you must have seen the demon’._ And the merchant heard much more about the Emperor than he could have ever wished to know- each tale so much wilder than the last it made its predecessor seem plausible.

_‘Did you know his lover is a dragon?’_

After that the merchant was embarrassed. He hadn’t understood at all how that unusual person could be so irreverent, from the manner of dress to the manner of speech to the lazy way of lying on those carpeted steps. But if it was a dragon, then that made sense. 

_And the devil wanted the drink for dark rituals, using sacrifices of the mother._

_But isn’t that drink an alcohol? Surely he wanted it for pleasure._

_Who knows?_

Plenty of people knew something, but no one knew everything, and it is in the huge space between what is known and what is unknown that all rumours are born.

One week before the New Year’s festival the Emperor was attacked while he slept. Afterwards, everyone knew the act had been arranged by the former crown prince- a brother near thirty years the Emperor’s senior, the one who everyone had thought would succeed the throne. He was strung up in a public square, his treachery read aloud for the entire nation to hear, and citizens of all walkings were summoned to humiliate him.

Of course he had failed. Had he not heard anything of the new Emperor’s reputation? 

A reputation that was now very well enforced. It was the judges that told this story- for the assassins the brother had sent hadn’t lived out the night of the attack.

They had been the best of the best, unphased by gossip, spiders and snakes who crept through windows for a living, left throats slit and beds dripping red and no one who had seen anything come morning. They had slithered in through the chinks in the palace walls, and the guards outside the Emperor’s chambers had heard nothing, had only shifted their feet lazily at their posts.

Inside the chamber, there had been awake some unusual young person with long hair- and these assassins were as quick as any diving falcon, as soon as eyes glinted in the dark they struck, and they should have seen a head roll and maybe they _did,_ but they couldn’t have, because there was no head and their spines were soon crushed under the tremendous jaws of something that was not human at all.

The sounds of that woke the Emperor, and those that darted to his room- because there was more money for them if their companions died- were faced not with an Emperor, but with the tall shadow of a naked man, a shadow that made their knives spark like flint, that could not be cut in any way. These men were dead soon, too, their necks broken by something superhumanly strong before they had a chance to escape.

(“Oh, look at you,” Greed said, entering the other room, the assassins left behind. Envy had taken on a long, coiling shape, something very much like what the court tended to call it- only with nastier teeth. “All that dragon stuff is going to your head.”  
Envy growled as it changed back, and even in human form its face was still smeared with blood, blood that pooled on the fur carpet below.

“Made a mess of my things, did you,” Greed said, to tease, but he didn’t really mind because Envy looked too beautiful like that, the sight was worth any number of tiger rugs. And of course, in the back of his head Ling was trying to work out what had happened already- but Greed didn’t really care. A bit of excitement like this was necessary, every now and then.)

_The Emperor must have used black magic to defeat them._

_Apparently there were huge teethmarks on the bodies!_

_No wonder he keeps the dragon close. No human guard could compare._

But things went more smoothly, after that.

Indeed, as the months turned into years, the rumours persisted- but something else became clear: the nation of Xing was prospering. Under the new Emperor, even the lowliest of clans were well cared for, and equally represented in court. Laws were put in place to protect those who worked with their hands, in the fields or in the shops or in the construction fields of the new galleries. Those that had been in disproportionate power settled. Trade relations improved on every border- new and exotic goods from the steppes in the north, and the islands in the east, and the industrial places beyond the western desert were seen in markets and in the palace halls. The wheels of the wooden windmills were turning.

The talk of the Emperor was still wild- people whispered of his lavish parties, his eccentric habits and wonderous companions. But these were fond kinds of rumours.

And for the desperate young man who had traveled across the desert all those moons before, he would look around and surprise himself at times, having found that without even realizing it he had made his way to ‘the happy ending’, after all.

Or at least, that was what people said.


End file.
